c

☀️☀️☀️☀️

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we are what we love

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i'm so in love with nature

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isn't it overwhelming the feeling you get before you start reading a new book? it's like you're getting ready for a trip, and it's as if in the suitcase you have to prepare to leave, you're putting emotions instead of the usual clothes. in my suitcase you'd usually find the excitement of meeting new characters, new people i'd get attached to right away. or maybe i'd hate, that depends. in a small side of the suitcase you would find the happiness of discovering new stories, of learning something new, a new moral to better understand the world. on the other side of the suitcase you'd find awareness, because i'd definitely feel vulnerable reading something that would make me feel understood. and in the middle of the suitcase, there would also be the awareness of the nostalgia i would feel, the fear i would feel once i finished reading the book, my temporary medicine. the fear of facing real life again, knowing full well that i wouldn't be surrounded by the beautiful scenery i read about, and that i wouldn't be holding the hand of my hypothetical favorite character. each book is a journey that i wish could become endless

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waiting for someone who will draw stars around my scars

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every time i finish a book, i usually hold it tightly in my arms, in the dark, with my eyes closed. i usually think back to the scenarios related to that book, remembering with nostalgia the places, the emotions, the perfumes and the stories told. recalling with nostalgia the characters, especially those to which i felt more attached because they had a stronger impact on my person, most of the time because they talked about feelings that i have never been able to express. they always speak for me, the characters in the books; they make me feel understood and less alone. every time i finish a book i always leave a piece of me inside of it, i thank it for taking me on another adventure and i lay it down, leaving the silence between those pages, letting the story flow alone, without me to read it. leaving it next to other books, so that the characters mingle and form something greater than this miserable reality.

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sometimes i talk as if my life was already over: "i would have liked to find out what love really is", "i would have liked to travel the world", "i would have liked to have the body i want for once in my life"

i think my brain has become accustomed to not seeing a future for myself, it always seems that everything is about to end, i have now surrendered to the idea that there may be better for me in the world. Will it always be like this?

there is no more bitter scenario than to see yourself give in to sadness, to the incompleteness that life can often be

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dirtiest car you'll ever see

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london